


Life in a Thousand Words or Less

by CrunchySalad



Category: Tennis no Oujisama | Prince of Tennis
Genre: Canon Compliant, Ficlet Collection, M/M, Multiple Pairings, No Sex, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-05-18
Updated: 2006-07-24
Packaged: 2017-10-19 10:45:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 13,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/199976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrunchySalad/pseuds/CrunchySalad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of unrelated one shots involving various pairings in Prince of Tennis. Ranges from fluffy to pervy. Pairings listed inside.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Especially in Purple

**Author's Note:**

> Pairings by chapter:  
> 1\. Kajimoto and Mizuki  
> 2\. Sanada and Kirihara; Yukimura and Niou  
> 3\. Sanada and Kirihara  
> 4\. Momo and Arai  
> 5\. Sanada and Kirihara  
> 6\. Sanada and Yukimura  
> 7\. Sanada and Yanagi  
> 8\. Sanada and Kirihara  
> 9\. Hiyoshi and Gakuto  
> 10\. Atobe and Jirou; Oshitari and Gakuto  
> 11\. Jackal and Kirihara  
> 12\. Kite and Kai  
> My personal favorites are 8 and 11.

It was common knowledge that Mizuki Hajime was constantly searching for a boyfriend. It was also common knowledge, at least to his friends, that Mizuki Hajime had never actually had a boyfriend in his life. They thought that maybe Mizuki was onto something, and his lonely days would be over (therefore, he would spend a lot less time in their rooms obsessing about boys and dates and clothes), when he recruited a naïve and generally amiable (as long as you didn't mention his older brother) Fuji Yuuta to St. Rudolph's.

Their hopes and dreams for their dear (and somewhat annoying) friend were encouraged when rumors spread that the younger Fuji was making late night trips to Mizuki's room. Hopes and dreams that were dashed when those visits stopped, shortly after Yuuta discovered Mizuki had been trying to destroy his shoulder.

And so, Mizuki was again alone, and spent his days sulking in the rooms of aforementioned friends. Then, one miraculous day, he came back from a session at Seigaku with a smile on his face and a spring in his step, and spent more time in his room trying on different outfits than with his friends. Rumors spread that Mizuki Hajime finally had a boyfriend.

And so it was to some surprise when, one fine afternoon, Yuuta found Mizuki sulking in his room, sitting against the wall with his knees drawn up.

"Mizuki-san," Yuuta asked, "what's wrong?"

"Oh no, nothing I would trouble you with, Yuuta."

Yuuta frowned. That was Mizuki speak for 'ask me what's wrong again or else I'll follow you around pouting and sighing sadly for the rest of the day'. "It's no trouble."

Mizuki pouted and sighed sadly. "Kajimoto said that he likes me too."

Sometimes Yuuta just didn't understand his sempai. "So you told him you like him, and he said he likes you too?"

Mizuki nodded.

"Isn't that a good thing?"

Mizuki shrugged. "At first, when I kept asking him out, and he kept saying yes, I assumed he was just being polite. He's a really polite boy, you know, Kajimoto, in addition to being unbelievably handsome."

"Uh... yeah." Yuuta tried to get Mizuki to speed up. He didn't need a rant about how good-looking Kajimoto was. It wasn't as if he didn't have eyes of his own.

"So I thought I'd make my intentions known, so I told him I liked him. But I don't think he understood me, because right away he said 'I like you, too'."

"Mizuki-san..." Yuuta wasn’t sure how to approach this. Maybe it was because no one had ever really liked Mizuki, at least not in the way Mizuki wanted them to, so now when some one did like him he didn't understand what was going on. "Maybe he said that because he likes you."

Mizuki's eyes lit up. "Really?"

Before darkening again.

"But... you know, when Kajimoto was in his first year, he went out with Yukimura."

Yuuta remembered the first time he had seen Yukimura. It was in his last year of elementary school, and his older brother had left a tennis magazine on the hallway table. It was a local one, one that covered junior high teams, and Yukimura had inexplicably been named "Most Beautiful Boy in Japan" on its cover. It was, unfortunately, a bad photo, as Yukimura had been caught unawares while on a shopping trip, and looked like a deer caught in the headlights, albeit a very beautiful one. Saeki had told him later that the Yukimura family went on to file a restraining order against the overzealous photographer who snapped the photo.

"And?"

"If you dated some one like Yukimura, would you be interested in some one like me?"

Yuuta didn't respond for awhile, until he realized that this was where he was supposed to say something nice. "I think you're cuter than Yukimura, Mizuki-san."

"Oh, you're just trying to cheer me up," Mizuki said, but the way he was suddenly primping and batting his eyelashes meant he believed it. "But then... yesterday, I ran into his teammate, Wakato. Did you know he used to date Kajimoto, too?"

"Uh huh."

"And he called me 'The Purple One', and said he didn't see what Kajimoto saw in me. He said I was feminine and weird."

"He's just jealous, Mizuki-san." Yuuta thought of the boy, and his silly 'Change Over' routine, and the numerous fag hags that followed him around. "He's pretty flamboyant himself, you know."

"But the thing is, I have to go hang out with Kajimoto and his teammates today, and Wakato will be there, and I don't want to be feminine and weird."

"Okay."

"But all of my casual clothes are purple."

"I see."

"Can I borrow some of your clothes?"

Yuuta sighed. Why hadn't Mizuki just asked that in the first place?

Two hours later Mizuki stood in front of the new hamburger restaurant near Kajimoto's school, doing a very good job of pretending he wasn't a little nervous. But then, if it was one thing Mizuki knew, it was posture and pretense. Yuuta's clothes were a little bigger than his own were, but he supposed now he was dressed more like every one else. A t-shirt and jeans, Yuuta had told him, despite his protests that a date required more formal clothing. And so he was dressed casually, in shades of down to Earth brown. It wasn't long until Kajimoto arrived, his friends in tow.

"You look nice," Kajimoto said.

"Really?" Mizuki smiled prettily and twirled around to show off his outfit. Then he caught sight of Wakato and the twins behind Kajimoto, snickering at him, and he stopped. "Better than usual, wouldn't you say?"

"I don't know about that," Kajimoto replied, a statement that left Mizuki staring up aghast at him until he clarified it. "I think you look nice all the time."

"Even in purple?"

"Especially in purple," Kajimoto said. Then he bent down to peck Mizuki on the cheek, before leading both of them inside.


	2. Tough Love

Yukimura was back. They had their Yukimura-buchou back, and everything was ecstasy and elation. Rikkai's morale couldn't have been higher going into the Nationals, especially when they won their first game with little to no effort.

Then it was over, back to practice to prepare for the next game, and they remembered for the first time in a long time why it was actually preferred when Sanada was left in charge of practices.

Marui collapsed as he skidded to a stop, stumbling onto the planate top before pushing himself off again. Even Kirihara, whose stamina was more or less unparalleled, was sweating and panting a little.

"Was he always..." Kirihara gasped out, the perpetual whine in his voice, "this strict?"

"Yes," Jackal replied, his cheeks red even through his dark skin. "We just forgot."

And then Yukimura's whistle was blowing.

"Again," he commanded, and all the regulars sprinted across the length of the tennis courts and back again.

Marui ran into the fence this time and kind of just splattered there, like a bug on a windshield, until Yagyuu pried him off.

"Two on one drills... hitting drills... conditioning drills... when can we go home?" Kirihara was almost screeching now, though he was still careful to keep his voice out of buchou hearing range.

"What did you say, Akaya?"

"Nothing, Yukimura-buchou!" Kirihara screamed.

Yanagi smiled at him, managing to look as nonchalant as ever even with sweat dripping down his face, and then the whistle went off again. "You'll thank him for this later on."

The next time Kirihara had only barely finished running back before Yukimura blew the whistle and called out 'again'. He shot a pleading look towards Sanada, whose normally impassive face softened for just a moment.

"Yukim-" Sanada started to call out, and Kirihara felt his hope blowing up in his chest like a balloon, before Yukimura's sharp and sudden glare cut off any entreaties Sanada was about to make. "... ... ... never mind."

But Kirihara's hopes weren't completely dashed, because there Niou was, sweaty and flushed and whispering something in Yukimura's ear. Yukimura frowned, then laughed at whatever Niou was saying.

"All right." He sighed, resigned, before calling out to the team. "Pair up for a round of ball suicides, then you can go home and get some rest."

Forty-three minutes later and Kirihara's whole body felt tender and raw. He attempted stretching his arms as he walked home with Sanada, hoping that maybe he could get some feeling into them other than 'sore', but figured it was probably useless and stopped.

"Mou, Yukimura-buchou's so much harsher than you are," Kirihara complained, "and we won, it's not like we need extra practice."

"If Yukimura says we need the extra practice, then we need extra practice."

Kirihara looked up and blinked at his fukubuchou, who looked as stoic as ever, though there was a little trace of fear in his eyes. Kirihara snickered. He knew that Yukimura hadn't said anything to Sanada about his loss at Kantou yet, and Sanada was just dreading the confrontation. Maybe, knowing Yukimura, the other boy was waiting to do it just to let Sanada sweat a little bit.

Kirihara tugged on Sanada's jacket sleeve, leaving his hand in the crook of Sanada's elbow. "Sanada-fukubuchou."

Sanada glanced down at him, seemingly annoyed, but Kirihara knew better. "What is it, Akaya?"

"Take me to the arcade?"

"I don't have any money."

Kirihara pouted. "So I guess you can't treat me to ice cream either."

Sanada didn't say anything, just kept walking, and Kirihara had to quicken his pace to keep up with Sanada's longer strides. When they got to Sanada's house Kirihara frowned and released his grip on Sanada's arm, shuffling his feet from side to side as he watched Sanada open the front gate. Sanada stopped and stood there for a moment, debating, before turning around to look back at Kirihara.

"I bought the new fighting game you wanted."

"Really?" Kirihara beamed up at his fukubuchou.

Sanada nodded. "If you're good and finish your homework, we can play it together."

Kirihara grinned and followed Sanada into the house.

Back at the club house, Yukimura was changing into his tennis outfit while Niou took off his shirt and started to wipe his sweat off with it.

"You know," Niou said, leaning back on the bench, "that would look a lot sexier on you if it was a skirt."

Yukimura smiled and raised an eyebrow. "I'll wear one if you wear one."

Niou cackled to himself and put his shirt back on, picking up his racket and rolling the handle between his fingers. For a moment, a worried expression crossed his features, before he shut it off with a small smile. Nah, he thought, everything would be fine. "You were kinda hard on us back there."

Yukimura blinked at him a few times, confused. "Was I? It's nothing any of you can't handle; I know your capabilities." Yukimura's expression softened even more then, gentle and dreaming, making him look not unlike Snow White conversing with forest animals. "I wish I could have trained with you guys."

"That's because you're crazy," Niou replied, grinning. "If you were training with us, you'd have kept going, and made us keep up."

"It's best to lead by example," Yukimura explained, picking up his own tennis racket.

Niou frowned as Yukimura took a few experimental swings. Yukimura's form was predictably perfect, but even Niou could see he was lacking the power he used to have. "Are you sure this is okay? The doctor says you can't start playing again for a week."

"Yeah." Yukimura didn't even look up, too intent on his swings. "It's just a light rally. What about you? Are you tired from the 'hard' training I put you through?"

"Nah." Niou grinned. "It's just a light rally, right?"

Yukimura stopped, and smiled at him. "In one week, I can play as much tennis as I want, and I'm going to play and train every second of every day. Then, when we get to the finals, I'll have Tezuka's head on a platter."

Niou laughed. "Assuming Seigaku makes it that far."

"Oh, they'll make it. Now, shall we go?"

Niou pushed himself off the bench and opened the door. "After you."

Yukimura made his way through the door, as graceful as ever, all dormant power in those lean muscles, and Niou thought, yeah, everything would be fine. He reached down, pinched Yukimura's retreating ass, and cackled as he closed the door to the club house.

If some one had been around, they would have heard a strangely dignified and not very surprised proclamation of 'oh!', then a voice say in a seductive, husky tone, "You're so naughty. I should give you a spanking."

And then, in a different but equally husky voice, "Is that a promise?"

* * *

completely unrelated omake

"It's a little tight," Kirihara mumbled, stretching out in an attempt to get comfortable in the silk and fishnet.

"That's what makes it feel good," Yukimura reprimanded, sliding long, black ears onto Kirihara's head. "Now, come here and give me a kiss."

Never one to disobey his buchou, Kirihara shyly slid forward on the bench and pressed his lips against Yukimura's.

There was the sound of a door opening, then promptly closing again.

Outside the clubhouse, Sanada rubbed at his eyes, but the image remained in his head... Yukimura and Akaya, both in black playboy bunny outfits, kissing. He willed his hard-on away. Unsexy thoughts, he told himself, and remembered the time he caught Yagyuu in a petticoat.

"Yo, Sanada, you seen Yuki-buchou?"

Sanada looked over to see Niou grinning at him. "He's indisposed at the moment. With Akaya."

"Oh?"

"They're... playing bunnies again."

"Ooooh." Suggestive tone, lecherous smile, and Niou was looking like the big, bag wolf. "Two cute, defenseless bunnies all on their own... I've gotta take advantage of this."

Niou disappeared into the club room, and moments later Sanada was listening jealously to the moans and giggles coming from inside of it. Why hadn't he thought of that?


	3. Tea on Ceremony

Sanada gripped the wooden hilt of his katana in one hand, going over in his mind his form and execution. Some of the other regulars, mostly Niou, liked to joke about how his hobbies were more befitting of someone twenty years older than they were. It's not like Sanada cared what Niou and others thought. Kendo and calligraphy, things like that, they focused him in a way that other methods didn't. The stroke of a sword was remarkably similar to the stroke of a pen, and both transitioned into the stroke of his tennis racket.

Sanada became aware of a noise behind him, and turned around to see a familiar mop of black curls behind a pillar.

"You can come out, Akaya. I'm not going to hurt you."

Kirihara's hands appeared from behind the pillar, followed by a pair of bright green eyes and a small pout. "Put your sword away first."

Sanada glanced at his sword before moving over to the stand and lowering it into its cradle. He then turned to the younger boy. "Come in. I'll make you some tea."

Without even looking to see if Kirihara was following, Sanada started to stride into the inner sanctum of his family's residence. Kirihara wasn't the most graceful or quiet of people, so the noises of his shuffling footsteps were perfectly clear, always sounding from just a few feet behind Sanada. When they reached the room Kirihara sat, cross legged, on one side of the low table, and waited for Sanada to prepare the tea.

Soon enough Sanada was sitting down, calves tucked neatly underneath his thighs, and was pouring tea into a small, porcelain cup. He stirred some sugar into one cup and handed it to Kirihara, because Kirihara hated the bitter taste of traditional black tea, and then he was pouring a cup for himself.

"Is your head okay?" Kirihara mumbled, half into his tea cup.

Sanada frowned. "It's fine."

"Yeah... so..." Kirihara stopped to take a deep breath, then rushed out the next part of his statement. "Sorry for throwing that tennis racket at you."

"I'm... sorry as well," Sanada said, albeit grudgingly, the words all but foreign to his tongue. Kirihara's ears perked up, certainly not expecting an apology from his fukubuchou. "After discussing it with Yukimura..."

That probably meant that Yukimura had lectured him about it.

"... I realized I shouldn't have yelled at you like that in front of the whole club."

"Yeah! I didn't even do anything," Kirihara whined. "You sempai-tachi are too hard on me."

Kirihara's posture suddenly slumped down as he made himself even more relaxed than before, and you could almost see the relief taking over him. Sanada felt less tense as well, now that the formalities of the apology were over, and let his shoulders relax minutely. Kirihara was smiling at him, his presence... nice, somehow. Tea with Kirihara was always surprisingly pleasant, even if Kirihara's manners left much to be desired.

"You know," Kirihara continued, tilting his head as he watched Sanada drinking his tea, "you look funny."

Sanada raised an eyebrow. "Funny."

"Yeah, like, without your baseball cap and in traditional Japanese clothes. You look... respectable."

"I'm not a respectable figure usually?"

"Nuh uh." Kirihara shook his head from side to side, a little too vehemently for Sanada's taste. "More like scary."

It might not have been intended as a compliment, but Sanada was oddly pleased with that comment.

"Now, you look, like," Kirihara brought his knees up to his chest, "kinda handsome."

Sanada looked up from his tea cup, surprised. The few moments that passed by next seemed like a small eternity, and Sanada wasn't quite sure what else to do but stare at the younger boy. Then Kirihara broke the silence by chuckling, and his eyes were half circles as he grinned.

"Just kidding. Did I surprise you?" Before Sanada could say anything Kirihara was standing up. "I should go home now."

"... I'll walk you to the door."

They walked to the front of the Sanada household in relative silence, both of them feeling just a little bit awkward. Kirihara paused at the door, shuffling a little. "So I'll see you at practice tomorrow."

"Yeah."

Kirihara nodded and stumbled down the steps, not even aware when Sanada reached out for him, two seconds too late.


	4. I'm Not a Crybaby Anymore

This wasn't good, not good at all. Even going at top speed on his bike it would take him ten minutes to get there, and for some reason there were a lot of pedestrians out today. As he swerved between them, avoiding kids and stray toys, he thought, it's always the days you need to be somewhere that everything seems to slow you down. If only he hadn't stayed so long at Taka's place, but he and Echizen had gotten into that eating competition, and Kikumura had been gracious enough to treat. Arai would understand, right, he was only... Momo glanced down at his watch for a second, nearly hit a squirrel while doing so.

Dammit. He was over an hour late. He sped up, even if he did feel a cramp in his leg, and when he got to the park he practically jumped off his bike. It coasted forward a little before plopping down on its side, but Momo was already running up the steps. When he reached the top he was pretty tired from all the effort he had put into actually getting there, and had to stop a moment to catch his breath, resting his hands on his knees.

He looked up for a second, long enough to catch that familiar figure in the periphery of his vision. His back was to him, but the longish hair and the Seigaku uniform was enough to give it away, and it looked like he was stuffing his tennis racket into his bag. Rather violently too, and Momo figured he was probably mad.

"Oi!" Momo jogged towards the other boy, who didn't even turn to look at him. "Oi, Arai, I'm here."

Definitely mad, Momo thought, as Arai slung his bag over his shoulder and walked off.

"Hey." Momo jogged up and stumbled into step beside the other boy. "I said I'm here."

"What, an hour late?" Arai was frowning, an expression he wore quite often these days. It was, Momo supposed, a natural progression from the pout he always wore in grade school. "I've got stuff to do."

"Like what, tormenting first years?" Momo joked, laughter cut short as Arai sent a heated glare his way. "So... yeah. Okay. I'll walk home with you."

"Don't bother. You obviously have better things to do with your time."

"I'm sorry about that, really sorry." Momo rubbed at the back of his head and sighed, frustrated. "I didn't mean to be late."

Arai didn't say anything, so Momo contented himself to walking in silence alongside the other boy. Really, things had been so much simpler when they were just elementary school students. Momo remembered climbing on jungle gyms, trying to play tennis with rackets that were too large for them, playing laser tag at birthday parties. Arai was never good at it, and always cried when he came in last place, but he had been so cute that it hadn't mattered. Yeah, Arai used to be a spoiled crybaby, but Momo didn't mind being there to wipe away his tears. Besides, that Arai was much preferred to the jerk he had somehow become now.

"Hey." Momo tried again, wrapping his fingers around Arai's wrist.

"Why don't you just fuck off?" Arai grumbled, yanking his hand away.

Really, not cute at all.

"Hey, remember when we were in elementary school?" Momo was nothing if not persistent. More like insanely irritating, some one like Kaidoh would correct. "Your hair was long then too, and your eyes were so big and round, I thought you were a girl when I first saw you."

"Shut up."

Okay, so nostalgia was not going to work. Momo sighed. "Geez, I already said I'm sorry. What more do you want me to do? I'll do it, you know."

Arai scowled at him. "Maybe be on time when we're supposed to meet each other?"

"Okay. Once again, sorry." This was starting to try on Momo's nerves. "Look, I'll help you with your backhand some other time."

"Whatever."

Momo gritted his teeth. Arai was always so... difficult. He would have just left right then and there if he didn't feel so responsible for Arai's foul mood. Yeah, he was feeling a little guilty, but what more could he do but apologize? "What about tomorrow? I can meet you tomorrow, whenever you want."

"It doesn't even matter any more," Arai replied, and Momo was a little surprised to hear his voice so soft. What happened to all the anger? "Don't worry about it."

"But it's important to you."

"Yeah, and it's obviously not to you."

Momo blinked. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Arai shrugged before turning his head away, so that whatever was written on his facial expressions, Momo couldn't read it. "Wouldn't you rather hang out with the other regulars?"

Why did the way Arai say that make him feel so guilty? Momo looked down at his feet, counting his steps. Thirteen footsteps, three large cracks in the sidewalk, and he still wasn't sure what to say. "That doesn't have anything to do with this."

"So what were you doing to make you late?"

"That doesn't matter," Momo replied, a little too quickly.

Arai turned to glare at him, and Momo looked back down at his feet. "Fine."

Ten footsteps, and Momo realized his shoes were pretty scuffed up. "Are you jealous? That I'm a regular?"

"You're such an idiot," Arai muttered, and increased his walking pace.

"Hey." Momo stumbled a little, but caught up, and this time when he reached for Arai's wrist he made sure he was holding on nice and tight before he pulled the other boy to the side. They were in some alleyway now, narrow and fairly private, and Momo made sure Arai wasn't going to bolt before he let go. "What's up with you?"

Arai leaned against the wall and rubbed at his wrists, eyebrows furrowed and eyes lidded. There was a little bit of a pout in his frown now though, and for a moment Momo saw the old Arai in him.

"Hey," he said again, softer this time, "what's wrong?"

Arai looked off to the side, features still a little shuttered. "So you're a regular, and I'm not, and maybe I am a little jealous but really I'm fine with it." He turned to look Momo in the eyes, expression challenging. "That okay with you?"

"Yeah. Then why the attitude? Why the 'hang out with the other regulars' bit?"

"Attitude?" Arai shrugged his shoulders and looked down. "I wasn't... it's just the truth, right? Since you've become a regular all you've done is spend time with them. And now that first year brat's here, and you're always off doing things with him all the time."

If there was any jealousy in the words 'first year brat', Momo was too oblivious to notice it.

"You mean Echizen?" Momo scratched the side of his head. It was true he spent a lot of time with the first year. The regulars already spent so much time together, and he got along really well with Echizen, so it seemed only natural for them to hang out after practices and club activities. "But you have your own friends."

"Yeah." Arai pushed himself off the wall, shouldered his bag. "So it's fine, right? Still, I figure the times we do hang out, you could care enough to be on time. I was there ten minutes early, you know."

"Geez... now you're just trying to make me feel bad."

Arai shrugged again. "Are you done? Can I go home now?"

"Yeah. Sure." Momo watched as Arai turned and walked away, stumbling into step behind him. They walked home in silence, Momo thinking that he had really screwed this up. Soon enough they were at the intersection where their paths home diverged, and despite his current antagonistic mood towards Momo, Arai still waited for him to say goodbye.

Momo shuffled from foot to foot, thinking of what to say while Arai seemed to glare at him.

"So... The thing is..." Momo shook his head a little, as if it could be cleared of the silly little useless thoughts floating around in it. "It's not like I don't want to spend time with you, too."

Arai raised an eyebrow.

"I like being with you, I always have," Momo continued, flushing a little, "so I'm sorry. We're friends, right?"

Arai still looked dubious, but Momo could see the capitulation in his expression before he even said anything. "Yeah. We're friends."

Momo smiled and knocked his fist against Arai's. A friendly type of handshake. "Hey, remember what I used to do when you were being a crybaby?"

Arai's face turned a bright red, remembering.

"I'm not a crybaby any more," he muttered.

"Yeah, well, I'm going to do it anyway." Momo leaned forward, watching as Arai closed his eyes, and pressed a kiss against his lips. Arai's lips were always just a little bit chapped for some reason, but Momo never minded. He drew back, smirking a little as Arai opened his eyes again.

Arai frowned upon seeing Momo's expression. "Smug doesn't suit you."

Momo's smirk grew a little bit. "See you tomorrow?"

Arai sighed and turned, continuing his walk home.

"Noon," he called out, not even turning his head. "If you're late, there will be hell to pay."

"Yeah, yeah." Momo turned and started on his own walk. It wasn't until later that night, when he was snuggled up in his blankets and about to fall asleep, that he realized he had forgotten his bike on the grass at the park.


	5. One Night Stand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's say this is an AU in that we're pretending PoT takes place in college instead of (inexplicably) middle school.

Sanada Genichirou lay in the space between dream and reality. Still asleep, though certain things managed to seep through the hazy cloud of unconsciousness he rested in. A body, a warm back against his chest, arms and legs entangled with another's, and then he was waking up.

No one was there. Relief washed over as he slowly came to his senses, but his thoughts were a dull thud in his head, and the shower was on. The shower was on. Sanada moved, sat up on his bed, realized he was naked and sore. There might have been scratch marks on his back from the way it burned, and he wished he could make sense of what was going on.

Bare feet stepping onto the cold wooden floor, and there were three used condoms in his wastebasket... Sanada might have cursed, if he was the type to. He rubbed his temples, willing away his impending hangover (apparently, the brunt of it had yet to hit him), and tried to remember. Last night... his grandfather's dojo, an important party, and his older brother had challenged him to a saki drinking contest. As a man there was no way he could say no, and besides, there was the whole affair with Yukimura that he would rather forget.

"Under no circumstances will he be my vice-captain," Yukimura had said, and Yukimura's word was law, even as a rising sophomore. Their coach had been taken aback, but didn't say anything, and in the end a third year had been appointed the position. Sanada himself wouldn't dare question Yukimura, and he had to admit having a senior in at least one of the leadership roles was fitting... though he still felt that, as second in strength, he deserved the position.

Apparently, Yukimura saw differently. It irked Sanada though, made him wonder what it was about him that Yukimura deemed not good enough.

Enough of that though... Sanada pushed it to the back of his head, tried to focus on the present, because thinking about it was going to upset him. He got up and threw on a pair of boxers, looking for clues as to who he had brought home. His eyes caught sight of a pair of shorts thrown haphazardly on a chair and made his way over, fumbling inside the pockets. Rude, perhaps, but the boy (he guessed boy, from the body he was holding while half asleep, though it may have been a girl) was still in the shower.

His search turned up a small square of plastic... an identification card. He looked at the card first... shit... this time he really did curse, a low mutter under his breath. There was a small picture, and the boy was cute enough, large green eyes and curly black hair... young. Too young, and from the text on the card, Sanada realized he had slept with a high school student.

The shower turned off, and Sanada shoved the card back into the pockets as the boy came out of the bathroom. Bright green eyes blinked up at him, pink lips mumbled an 'ohio', and Sanada could only grunt out a reply. The boy had one of Sanada's towels wrapped around his skinny waist, but dropped it onto the floor as he made his way across the room, slipping back on his clothing as he did so. A pair of briefs, than a t-shirt, and then he was right next to Sanada and reaching for his shorts.

"So, um..." The boy made no move to go, and Sanada wondered if he was waiting for an invitation to breakfast or something equally inane. "Thanks for last night."

How awkward. Sanada moved to the door, opened it in what he hoped was an obvious hint. The sooner this was done with the sooner he could forget about it, and he was glad for the umpteenth time that his living quarters were apart from the main house.

"I mean, it was cool of you to step in like that. Your brother's an ass."

The statement only confused Sanada, though he wholeheartedly agreed with it, but he figured it was inconsequential. "Shouldn't you be off to high school now?"

The boy's eyes flashed, and he half-snarled, half-whined his next words. "I graduated from high school last year."

At least that was one thing Sanada didn't have to feel guilty about. To his immense relief the boy was walking towards him now, towards the door, and would soon be but a tiny memory.

"So..." The boy turned and stopped just as he was out of the door, and Sanada bit the inside of his cheek to keep from saying anything. "Just, thanks, again. I don't usually do this you know. I mean..."

The boy ran bit the bottom of his lip, rubbed at his nose, uncomfortable perhaps, and Sanada noticed a cut on his cheek and a bruise on his arm. Just what the hell had happened last night, to make the boy feel the need to express such gratitude?

"I mean, this is kind of my first time. Doing this."

"You don't need to tell me that." Really, Sanada wished he hadn't.

"Okay. Well... bye then."

Sanada shut the door and got ready for school. He didn't think anything about it, and then it was the end of the school day already, and he was walking towards the courts for their first practice of the year. He passed by Niou along the way, and the other boy grinned at him, all big, white teeth.

"You made it just in time. There's an interesting first year challenging Yuki and Yanagi."

Sanada raised an eyebrow, the most minute of movements, but didn't stop to have Niou clarify. He'd see soon enough for himself. A few moments later he got to the courts, and those black curls looked awfully familiar... Yukimura noticed him then, and nodded in greeting.

"Sanada. You made it just in time. Meet our new first year, Kirihara Akaya."

Black curls shifted, and the boy was turning around, looking up at Sanada with surprised green eyes.

Well, shit.


	6. An Affair with the Gardener

Sanada Genichirou woke up to the smell of freshly mowed grass and the sound of a lawnmower outside his home. It was a lovely summer morning, and as it was he was rather pleased with the world. He got up and padded to the bathroom, where he would undergo his morning routine of brushing his teeth and masturbating (not at the same time, of course), when he happened to look out the window.

He froze, eyes peeled to the garden. If he had been holding something, he would have dropped it right now.

"Yukimura?"

He knew the other boy couldn't hear him, but Yukimura chose that moment to look up, and smiled and waved from behind the lawnmower. He then went back to his work, and Sanada watched as Yukimura, shirtless and sweaty, with shorts that hung way too low, continued mowing his lawn. Sanada knew that Yukimura enjoyed gardening, but he sure as hell wasn't expecting this... gah. He was so glad he had that one-way window in the bathroom. He made his way there, and made a note to thank his parents later for hiring such fantastic gardeners.


	7. Little Fish in a Big Pond

Nine-year-old Yanagi Renji pulled his cap down tighter to his head as he walked through the busy streets. Really, he didn't think his hair cut was all that bad... his mother cut it for him, and she had to know what she was doing. She was his mother, after all. But then Sadaharu had commented on the fact that he looked like Touya Akira from that stupid go manga, and that was enough to make him start doubting his mother's seeming omniscience.

Ah, well, that's what baseball caps were for, and if the style didn't grow on him he could always change it. Renji stopped and waited at a street corner for the light to change, when something in the corner of his eye caught his attention.

There was a little boy on an opposite street corner, perpendicular from the path he was heading on now. About his age, Renji deducted, a little shorter, dressed in traditional Japanese clothing and wearing quite the surly face. There was a small pout to his lips though, and despite the scary expression he was making he seemed a bit lost. The boy was constantly scanning his surroundings, as though looking for something of utmost importance, and every now and then would move a step forward as if to go before moving back again.

Renji couldn't in all good conscious leave him there, and changed his path to go towards the boy. He stopped in front of him, and tugged on the cloth of his hanten sleeve.

"Do you need help?"

"No." The boy's tone was gruff, and he pulled his arm away, though Renji now noticed that there was a definite frightened look in the boy's eyes.

"Are you lost?"

The boy's eyebrows narrowed together in irritation, but his pout also deepened, and Renji surmised that it must be true. He looked around, but had no idea where this boy was supposed to be going any way.

"My brother locked me in the bathroom while we were sightseeing," the boy finally mumbled, albeit sounding quite grumpy as he was doing so. "When I came out my family was gone."

"You should go back to where you were. When they find you're missing, they'll go back there to look for you."

"I know that," the boy said, his tone indignant and a little angry. Really, Renji thought, the boy was a bit too serious for his age, and a bit of a spoiled brat as well. "But I left to look for them, and now I don't know how to get back."

"Where were you?"

The boy mumbled the name of a landmark, and Renji was pleased to realize he knew exactly where it was.

"I'll take you back there," he said, and he took the boy's hand in his.

The boy stumbled behind him as they walked through the busy streets, getting caught between the legs of rushing adults and other children. Renji slowed down, but the boy's hand slipped from his, and then he felt fingers wrap themselves in the back of the shirt. The arrangement worked out well, and Renji grew quite used to the boy clinging to him as the made their way to the destination. Too soon they arrived on the site, and as he came to a stop Renji felt the boy collide into his back.

"Here we are."

He felt fingers release his shirt, felt the boy standing up straight behind him, turned and saw a slight flush of embarrassment on his face.

"Thank you," the boy said, and Renji was quick to respond.

"What's your name? I'm Renji."

"Genichirou."

Renji smiled. "Genichirou, I think your parents are over there."

Genichirou turned, and there was a pair of worried parents at the front desk, with a boy who looked exactly like him only older in tow. "Hn."

But Genichirou made no move to go, and Renji tilted his head in confusion. Maybe it wasn't his family?

"I... will I see you again?"

What an odd boy. Renji smiled and took his baseball cap off, placing it on Genichirou's head. It looked cuter on him any way, and Genichirou was pulling it down, on tighter. "Of course. You can give this back to me, the next time you see me."

Genichirou nodded, once, before running off to rejoin his family.


	8. Spring, Summer, Fall, Winter, and Spring Again

March ended, and in the transition from Winter to Spring everything changed. The melting snow uncovered more than just hopeful young flowers, and as Akaya watched white turn to gray he could almost see the beginnings of a new year appear.

Yukimura was the first to say goodbye, only it wasn't really a goodbye, at a graduation that wasn't really a graduation.

"Congratulations, buchou," Yukimura said, and Akaya felt embarrassment overpower any kind of pride he might have had. Watching his feet shuffle with eyes downcast, he thought he could never think of himself as captain, wondered if he would be able to do Yukimura's job. Yukimura would always be his buchou... but Yukimura was leaving him, off to a land of planate tops and insomniac nymphs, to New York City and professional tennis.

Yanagi patted him on the head, and Akaya wondered why it was their graduation day had turned into an opportunity to give him assurances. He wasn't such a child that he needed so much support. Jackal shook his hand and muttered a casual 'see you later', and Akaya was never more thankful to his former baby-sitter than for that moment of lazy equality. He gave Marui a small cake, purples and pinks swirling together in the most saccharine way, and Marui gave him a hug that stuck to his skin even after Marui's fingers had left. He didn't bother looking for Niou or Yagyuu, because he would see Niou soon enough, and seeing Niou meant he would see Yagyuu as well.

He flittered an orbit around Sanada, waiting as his fukubuchou posed for stiff, awkward pictures with family members. Every step closer was a dare, but even his audacity had its limits, and disturbing the formality that cast an aura over the Sanada family was something he was not prepared to do. So he waited, and then Sanada noticed him, detached himself from his parents to exchange accolades.

"Congratulations." Akaya mumbled it, because he didn't know what else to say, and flutterings in his chest made it hard to concentrate. They were words, he knew, tangled within him, and though they tickled his throat he wouldn't let them spill out. He was eye level with Sanada's lips, turned down so minutely at the corners, and the memory of a sleep-drenched kiss was manifest in a light pink flush on Akaya's cheeks.

"You too," Sanada replied, and the tone of his voice was so harsh, so gruff, so typical of him. And, because he was Sanada, "Don't be careless."

"Yeah."

Silence that couldn't be called either awkward or companionable, and then Sanada was speaking again. "If you ever need anything don't hesitate to come find me."

Akaya nodded... the separation between Rikkai's middle and high schools existed only as a hallway and a courtyard, and the gates to the Sanada estate were always open to him. He looked up then, eyes ghosting over the strong planes of Sanada's face, green meeting brown, and he waited. Expectations that were unclear even to him, but he wanted Sanada to say something, to do something, and then Sanada's arm was lifting and calloused fingers were wrapping around his own. A handshake. Sanada's grip was warm and tight even after he let go, and Akaya's fingers tingled with lingering waves of disappointment.

Spring segued into Summer, breezes into humidity, lilacs into hydrangeas, and one by one Akaya's sempai-tachi quit tennis. Jackal was the first, trading in his racket for a football and a pair of cleats. Niou and Yagyuu soon followed to pursue their own interests (Niou's lied in various methods of slacking off, while Yagyuu's were purely academic, unless you counted keeping Niou out of trouble as an interest), and Yanagi took an internship that left little time for school sponsored club activities. Yukimura was of course still playing, but he was so far away it barely mattered, and e-mails were a poor substitute for tennis matches. Marui was the only one Akaya had to look forward to rejoining next year on the tennis team, but even Marui's interest in the sport was waning.

Even Sanada gave up tennis, turning instead to kendo once he was offered the position of vice-captain in the middle of his first year. It suited Sanada, and on those rare days that Akaya decided not to hold afternoon practice, he found himself stumbling towards the other side of the school to watch. Outside the open doors he'd stand with other fans, watched as the high school students sparred in billowing fabric, watched the clean lines of Sanada's hakama fold in and out of themselves as he moved in an almost dance. The sound of wooden swords clashing was almost rhythmic, and when Sanada barked orders and corrections at the other club members it reminded Akaya of their tennis team.

Today Akaya did have afternoon practice, and he found it just as awkward and strange as it had been since every one had graduated... he had never asked to be captain, had never really wanted such a position, and though he had attained his goal of becoming the strongest player on the team it was an empty victory. He had little talent for encouraging others, and trying to be both fair and commanding at once tired him... on more then several occasions he had to stop himself before any of the more arduous club members came to actual physical harm by his hands. Still, exhausted as he was, he took a detour on the way home, walking around the school grounds towards a familiar room.

It was raining, a hot summer rain that did nothing to quench the heat, and as he walked the pittar patter of it muted all else. As he drew closer to the auxiliary room he could hear the knocks of wood and wood, but they were distant and few, and as he approached the entrance way Sanada was already leaving.

"You're wet," in lieu of a greeting, and Akaya became aware of water weighing down his curls and pushing cloth against his skin. But Sanada had an umbrella, he always had an umbrella, and as quick as the words were out it was overhead of Akaya. The rain danced a kendo battle on the black fabric, and Sanada's arm was a solid presence around his waist. It was more efficient that way, Akaya knew, it kept both of them within the small tent as they started their trek home, but he could pretend it was something more than just rational. Derring-do welled up inside of him, as much as it could when Sanada was concerned, and he bought his arm up to rest against Sanada's waist, pressed his cheek against the side of Sanada's chest. The cotton of Sanada's dress shirt was rough against his skin, but he could feel the warmth underneath, and he was content in Sanada's obliviousness.

Akaya had asked Niou about it once, about Sanada and about Yukimura, and Niou had teased him over his bad taste. It had everything to do with sex and tennis and the past, and Niou asked him if he was jealous, a question which earned a quick kick in the shins. Why do you like some one who's constantly yelling at you, Niou asked, and Akaya couldn't really answer. But Sanada's words and actions were always so warm despite their tone, and besides... Sanada had kissed him once, maybe, a fragment of a memory from the Senbatsu camp, and Akaya was half asleep on his dorm cot.

A memory so vague and strangely colored that he thought now it must have been a dream... a piece of wishful thinking, or some figment of his imagination. Yet he could feel it so clearly even now, a strong hand pressed against the muscles of his stomach, a fleeting touch of lips against his temple. It was so real that it was almost tangible, but the more he tried to grasp onto the feeling the more it struggled from his reach, and then it was gone, and the absence of its warmth made him feel that much colder.

Akaya pushed it out of his head, tried as best he could to concentrate on his tennis team and the fall tournaments. But Rikkai wasn't Rikkai without the troika, and fall ended too soon. Before Akaya had even noticed any golden and crimson leaves the trees were bare, and though no white fell from the sky the smell of snow hung stagnant in the air. It was a season of heavy coats and scarves, and as a third year his participation in tennis became second to academic pursuits (though not by Akaya's own choice).

Akaya's detours to the kendo club room grew more and more in frequency as the air grew more and more chill. Wrapped in dark pea coats, matching scarves tangling together in the wind, they would walk home together in silence. Each day and Akaya's nameless emotions came closer to overflow, until one day boldness pushed him forward and he reached out the only way he really knew how. A folded piece of paper, torn clumsily from his school notebook, and that silly cliché sprawled out in big, messy characters. He slipped it into Sanada's jacket as they walked home, and waited for a reply.

Spring, summer, fall, winter, and spring again. Akaya was graduating, and the only ones that could make it were Niou and Yagyuu. But this graduation didn't count anyway, really, because he was only graduating from junior high and not from high school, and he would see all of them soon enough any way. When Yagyuu wasn't looking Niou slipped him a fake id, and a promise to go drinking later on. His parents smothered him with hugs and took him home, where he collapsed in bed from the exertion of the day. On his desk was a small piece of paper, clumsily torn and crumpled up, discarded in the corner with accidental care. Though the top was obscured, small, precise characters peeked out from the bottom, and six little words could be read: I wish I felt the same.


	9. Summer Nap

It was a typical summer's day, hot and sunny and almost pleasant if it hadn't been for the stifling humidity. Afternoon tennis practice hadn't made it any more bearable... the sweat was slow to evaporate from their skin, so they were sticky in addition to being just intolerably hot. It was times like this that made Hiyoshi long for the cool, fanned space of his family's dojo. If he was focusing on just martial arts instead, like his father wanted him to... but no, those were idle thoughts and this was tennis.

It was oddly silent, just the sounds of summer (birds, far off children at play, etc.) and the noise of dozens of balls being hit back and forth on the asphalt courts. Kantouku was there to bark out commands, and every now and then Atobe would interject as well, though he was just as busy practicing as the rest of them. Two hours later they were being sent off to the showers, practice done for the day, though the regulars would all surely train some more on their own time. After all, Nationals was coming up.

Hiyoshi skipped the showers. He had been one of the team members who had lost during Kantou. As a sort of personal penance and way to regain his pride, he would be off to the country club instead, to train there until his mother would call his cell late into the night and force him to come home. His mind was going over training routines in his head when his foot caught on something large and heavy, and he stumbled a few steps before righting himself. He turned, hearing finally the sound of soft snores, and saw on the ground the only regular who could actually get out of missing practice without anything more than a gentle reprimand.

It wasn't strange that Jirou was sprawled out in the shade of several trees, taking a nap. What was strange (though not entirely shocking) was that Gakuto was right there with him, his head on Jirou's stomach and his hand sprayed on Jirou's face, the pinky of which was dangerously close to being covered in drool. Gakuto wasn't the type to skip out on practice, but right now he was completely oblivious to both tennis and the outside world.

Hiyoshi stepped forward, back towards the sleeping pair, and froze for one second as Gakuto shifted. His lips parted in a sigh, and short strands of red hair fluttered over his cheeks. But then he was still, and Hiyoshi leaned down, just inches away.

"Sempai," he whispered, before realizing that a more normal tone of voice would be more apt to wake him up. "Mukahi-sempai."

But Gakuto didn't move, and Hiyoshi looked around, not sure of what to do. The courts were already empty, and there was no Kabaji to wake Gakuto and carry Jirou inside. He tried again, placing a hand on Gakuto's shoulder to shake him, but drawing it away just as quickly... it made him feel self-conscious, somehow, touching his sempai like that. But Gakuto really did look so pretty, and it was with a flush on Hiyoshi's rather irritable features that he hesitantly reached out again, fingers brushing over Gakuto's hair. It felt just as silky as it had always looked, a rich scarlet against his skin, and Hiyoshi thought for a moment that Gakuto's skin and lips must also be this soft. Maybe it was the heat that emboldened him, maybe it was his fatigue, but Hiyoshi found himself leaning down, until there was only an inch between them and he could smell the vanilla of Gakuto's lip balm.

"Gakuto?"

Hiyoshi turned at the familiar voice, and as soon as he saw Oshitari looking down at them from a few yards away he stood up and backed away, hoping that he didn't look anything out of the ordinary. He walked by Oshitari as though nothing had happened, eyes resolutely pointed ahead of him, but he couldn't help but notice Oshitari's knowing smirk on him as he walked by.


	10. Slumber Party

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No sex, but this ficlet is pretty raunchy.

Jirou fidgeting on the plush carpet floor of Gakuto's room, trying to get all the feathers out of his hair, pouting every time he found another one.

"Gaku-chan," Jirou whined, slumping over as he gave up. "Fix my hair for me."

"Not now, Jirou." Gakuto frowned, plucking feathers off his usually smooth, silky legs. At least Jirou hadn't been covered by melted chocolate... there were feathers all over his body, and his brand new pink negligee was completely ruined!

Jirou pouted some more and tugged on his black teddy. He didn't like not getting what he wanted... he was used to Atobe spoiling him so. "But, Gakuto..."

Gakuto sighed, hunching his shoulders a little, but then was hit by a wave of energy and jumped up. "Let's go take a bath!"

"Yay!" Jirou clapped his hands together a little before getting up and following Gakuto into the bathroom, both of them shedding their underwear along the way.

Outside the house, hidden behind a convenient clump of bushes, Oshitari was pinching his nose together as he rewound the video he had just recorded. Really, he had just come to take pictures of Gakuto, but then his other favorite kitty cat had come along. What luck... and he didn't even know the two of them had sleepovers.

He was so hard now, and rubbed his groin through the fabric of his pants as he played the video. It had been enough when they had covered each other with chocolate and whipped cream for 'dessert', but the pillow fight had almost been enough to make him cum without even touching himself.

And there they were, caught in perpetuity on his little digital camera, hard, pink cocks bouncing out of their panties as they laughed and feathers went flying into the air. Then Jirou was tackling his smaller friend, and they were rolling around on the bed giggling, wrestling together and rubbing up on each other just so.

Oshitari felt blood leaking out of his nose now, despite the fact that he was holding it shut. He really wished that there were windows in the bathroom.

"Oshitari, what do you think you're doing?"

The voice was accusing and commanding, and Oshitari spun around and hid the camera behind his back.

"Atobe! I can ex..." Oshitari blinked, then raised an eyebrow. "Atobe, is that a camera Kabaji's holding?"

Atobe cleared his throat. "Ore-sama has needs as well."

Atobe noticed the streaks of run running down from Oshitari's nostrils, and raised an eyebrow of his own. "You never struck me as the type to get nosebleeds of the hentai persuasion."

"Yes... well, I have somewhat of a fetish for ukes making out."

"Ah, yes." Atobe nodded his head sagely. "Many a seme has fallen symptom to u.m.o."

There was a little distorted noise then, and a high-pitched voice came giggling out of static.

"Wash my hair for me, Jirou?"

"You have audio?" Oshitari asked, impressed.

"I would have video as well," Atobe answered, "if Kabaji hadn't mixed up the wires in the bug."

Kabaji hung his head in shame.

Splashing noise came from the little radio Kabaji was holding, and then Jirou's voice.

"Mm... I have to wash you down there, too, Gaku-chan."

"Oooo..." Gakuto's quiet, husky voice, and then there was moaning and panting, and the definite wet sound of two boys kissing.

Atobe looked around to make sure no one was looking his way, then reached down to surreptitiously adjust himself in his pants.

"Mmm... Gaku... I want... I want.... in your mouth."

Oshitari really needed a tissue... his hands were covered in blood. "We have to get up there."

"I agree," Atobe said. "Can you climb the rose trellis?"

"Of course I can, but can you?"

"I can do anything."

Oshitari shot Atobe an incredulous expression before grabbing on to trellis.

"Kabaji," Atobe said, "carry me."

Oshitari felt Kabaji grabbing the rose trellis below him, and up they went. It only took a few minutes to reach the second floor, and then Oshitari was peeking through the window to see Jirou and Gakuto in bed. Jirou was on all fours above Gakuto, who lay on the mattress, and their little cocks were disappearing into each other's mouths.

Oshitari felt the rush of blood coming out of his nose, splattering all over the siding of the house, before everything became fuzzy and he passed out from loss of blood.

"Eeek!" Atobe shrieked (though in a very dignified way) as Oshitari fell over, knocking him out of Kabaji's arms, and the two boys went plummeting to the ground.

Kabaji cringed, then looked down. Oshitari and Atobe were laying prostate on the floor, their eyes little swirling uzumakis. He had failed his Atobe-sama again. He turned to look through the window, and Jirou and Gakuto were blinking up at him.

"Kabaji?" Gakuto asked. "Did you come to play with us?"

Jirou wriggled his ass in the air.

"Usu," Kabaji said, and he climbed in through the window.

* * *

  
~omake~

Jirou straddled Atobe's lap, swabbing alcohol on all the little cuts marring his usually flawless face.

"I don't get it... why didn't you just ring the doorbell if you wanted to come in?"

Atobe flushed, embarrassed that he had actually managed to forget about that option. "I wasn't exactly thinking with my head, Jirou."

"Not your big one, any way." Jirou winked, trying to be coy, but looked more awkward and adorable than anything else. But then he was rubbing up on Atobe, and he was still wearing that lacy black teddy, and Atobe found it very hard once again to form a rational thought.


	11. Complicated

Kanagawa was a cold place in December, the season of heavy scarves and wool jackets over school blazers. The holiday season bought a kind of festivity to the climate, but Christmas here was a sedate affair. There were some lights, to be sure, some decorations, but on the whole Jackal felt everything too undifferent. Too much like Kanagawa during the rest of the winter.

Or maybe he was just bitter. Two weeks before Christmas had bought with it a small brown package from his future sister-in-law, holding a button down shirt for him and a ticket to San Paulo for his brother.

"Why do you get to go back?" Jackal complained, though it was a complaint hidden in jest and family camaraderie, and his cousin only laughed and shrugged.

"When you have a fiancée in Brazil, maybe she'll send you tickets to see her."

So it was school and tennis and the holidays in cold, cold Japan for him, and he could only dream about beaches and girls wearing bikinis that were much, much smaller than anything the girls around here ever wore.

The fact that they had won at Nationals for the second time this year had done nothing to mitigate their harsh practices, even though officially the tennis club wasn't even supposed to be meeting any more. The third years were gone, of course, off to study for high school entrance exams, and there had been the agitation of Yukimura's collapse. Worry had quickly spread through the ranks, worry for both Yukimura (of course) and for the tennis club. As their newly appointed fukubuchou, Sanada had taken over, and was proving to be both not as tough as Yukimura and rather violent as well.

Yanagi was, sometimes, a calming effect, and was just as much an authority figure with Yukimura gone as Sanada was, despite the fact that he had no title. To distract the players from Yukimura's illness, and to seek out good doubles teams for next season now that the third years were gone, Yanagi had taken to pairing everyone off in unusual combinations.

Jackal's partnering with Akaya was the worse, but then, every one's partnering with Akaya was the worse. Akaya just didn't work well with partners.

"You have to stop playing singles," Jackal said to him one day, after a particularly disastrous game with the rather strange Sanada-Marui pairing, "and remember that you have some one there to back you up."

"But I'm a singles player," Akaya whined, "I can't play doubles."

"You know as well as I do that you won't have the opportunity to play singles on this club, not when it matters, not with those three here."

But then Akaya had looked a little down, kicking at the net with small movements of his legs, and maybe that had been too harsh. "But Yukimura-buchou's not here, not now. What if he's not here when Spring comes?"

It had definitely been too harsh, Jackal decided, and he felt guilt for reminding Akaya of the absence of his beloved buchou. So when Akaya asked him to go to the arcade afterwards, he went, and treated Akaya to several rounds of games before sending the younger boy home.

Jackal wasn't Akaya's baby-sitter, though he knew that several first years thought just that. It wasn't required that Akaya have some one to watch out for him, despite the fact that he was constantly stirring up trouble. And if he stirred up trouble while one of his sempai was around, if that sempai happened to bear the brunt of the punishment, it was more because of Sanada's penchant for playing favorites than it was because of any guardianship role.

The truth was Jackal spent a lot of time with Akaya because he liked Akaya. Akaya was sweet, once you got past the violence, and strangely docile when it came to his sempai-tachi. He was fun to hang out with, and Jackal valued his friendship, enough to ignore the facets of their relationship that made him rather nervous and uncomfortable.

The next practice had him paired with Marui, a familiar role, and one in which Jackal was confident. Their combination was good enough to secure them regular positions, he knew, and they probably worked better together than they did with any one else.

Afterwards, Sanada and Akaya were in one of their arguments, a strange thing to see because, unlike many of the other club members, Akaya wasn't afraid of Sanada, and, even more unlike other club members, Akaya was able to get away with a lot of impertinence. Their argument had something to do with Sunday, Christmas Sunday, and the fact that Akaya didn't want to go to their one-on-one tennis practice.

"What does it matter if it's Christmas? You don't celebrate it."

"It's still a holiday, I don't want to work on a holiday."

"It' not work, it's tennis."

"But it's not fun when you're the one coaching me."

Sanada looked as though the vein in his forehead was going to pop, but then Akaya turned to Jackal, his expression that contented, happy one that didn't settle well with Jackal.

"Why can't Jackal do it?" Akaya asked, but Jackal was already protesting.

"I have mass in the morning, and then I have to spend time with my family."

"Then you'll just have to wake up early and do it before you go to church," Sanada countered. "I want his control fixed by the time Yukimura gets back."

No one felt the need to remind Sanada that no one knew when that time would be.

And Jackal, being one of the club members who was a bit afraid of Sanada, as loath as he was to admit it, couldn't disagree. Akaya bounced up to him afterwards, a warm hand on his elbow, body contact that made Jackal uncomfortable but that Akaya initiated whenever he could. Boys, Jackal thought, no matter how close they were, just didn't touch each other that much.

"You don't have to practice with me, I won't tell Sanada-fukubuchou," Akaya said, his voice soft and sly.

"He'll get mad."

"We can do something else instead, like breakfast or something. Like, maybe some restaurant has a Christmas breakfast special or something, and we can drink egg nog together."

"Akaya, stop," Jackal said, gently moving Akaya's hand off his arm. "We'll practice tennis. That's it."

Jackal ignored the slightly hurt expression on Akaya's face; he was used to it. He walked towards the club room instead, Marui's voice a distant hum behind him.

"What are you doing, Akaya idiot? You've been making a fool of yourself for almost a year now."

"What do you mean?"

"Bakaya. Jackal's had girlfriends. Get it? As in girls, not boys."

"Shut up, sempai. I didn't ask you."

Jackal ignored that as well.

On Sunday the sun wasn't even up when they woke up to practice, and it had barely risen by the time they had finished. They walked home in the cold, their previous exercise warming them somewhat, Akaya stopping for a moment to tie his shoelace.

A train sped by them, shaky gears and wheels on a clumsy track. It was a loud cacophony in their ears, and for several moments the volume of the rest of the world was turned down low in comparison. He could count the train cars that were left now, could see the bored commuters in the compartments, and then Akaya was finished, was standing up, and they started walking again.

"What's Christmas mass at your church like?" Akaya asked him, genuine curiosity in his voice.

"It's boring. It's in Portuguese."

"Would I like it?"

"No," Jackal answered, and he smiled, because Akaya would absolutely hate it.

"Hey, are you going to go to Niou's New Years party?"

"No. I can't."

"Oh," Akaya said, and there it was, that disappointment that worried Jackal a little bit. "I was kind of hoping you'd be there, you know, New Years, since we... since you couldn't celebrate Christmas with... the team."

"My mom has a New Year's party," Jackal explained, "it's pretty boring, but I can't get out of it."

"Are you lonely?" Akaya asked, about the New Year's party.

"Maybe."

They came to a branch in their paths, and Akaya smiled and shouted a merry Christmas before running off.

Mass was indeed long and boring, but Christmas was pleasant, and for a moment as he exchanged gifts and good will with his family he could forget about the fact that he was in Japan, and not Brazil, for the holidays.

After that New Year's came quickly, and Jackal watched as his apartment became crowded with guests. His mother put him in charge of taking coats into the bedroom, and his bed soon became buried in wool and furs and leather. White dresses filled the apartment, noise and laughter, and every one seemed to be having a fun time. It was after midnight, after the popping of champagne bottles and clinking of several dozen noisemakers, when he heard his mother's voice coming from the foyer, apparently talking to a new guest.

"I didn't know that Jackal had such a cute kouhai," she was saying, which was statement enough to arouse Jackal's interest. As he made his way into the small area he saw Akaya standing there and smiling bashfully at his mother, who quickly excused herself to go back to the party.

"What are you doing here?" Jackal asked, touched in spite of himself.

"You said that you got lonely."

"Shouldn't you still be at Niou's house?"

"Yukimura-buchou's still in the hospital," Akaya said, his voice so small, "so Yagyuu told Niou to have his party there instead. I thought I'd leave early, since your house is on the way, and... I just wanted to spend a little bit of the New Year with you."

Akaya was looking at him then, earnest and hopeful, pointing up at the ceiling. A clump of mistletoes hung above them, left over from Christmas, and Jackal felt all of the sudden awkward. Akaya's hands had somehow gotten tangled in the front of Jackal's shirt, and he was on his tip toes now, lips pink and moving upwards. Jackal panicked slightly, leaned down, and pressed a kiss against Akaya's forehead. As odd as it was, it wasn't as bad as a kiss on the lips.

For a moment, there was stillness, though Akaya held onto his shirt. The soft curls of his hair tickled Jackal's chin.

"Why can't you like me?" Akaya asked, his voice cracking slightly.

"What are you saying?" Jackal asked back, his voice a whisper. "How can I?"

"Would you like me if I was a girl?"

Yes. So much. Because Akaya was sweet, and fun to be with, and many other things that Jackal liked as well. "Yeah. I would."

"So why can't you like me now?"

"It doesn't work like that, Akaya."

Akaya let go then, looking up, a smile on his lips that belied the tone of his voice.

"Happy New Year, sempai," was all he could say, and Jackal only watched as he left the apartment.


	12. One, Two, Three

_One. The Desideratum of Violence._

 

Kai never had much use for rational thought. Life was action and reaction, instinct, and maybe that's why he liked martial arts so much. It had nothing to do with thought and everything to do with his body, moving through blows and blocks that were more primal a part of him than anything else.

When Kite Eishirou showed up at the dojo, it didn't have anything to do with thought. It was chemical, pheromones in reverse, and Kai knew from the way Kite smelled that he hated him. Kite, as much chemical and instinct as Kai was, must have felt the same, and for the first long, few days, every one felt the hairs on their body stand on end as the tension mounted. Even the sun looked full to bursting, growing more swollen and red with each passing moment.

It started with the sound of one of the screen walls of the dojo ripping, as two young bodies fell through it. In truth, it started before that, but Kai couldn't remember any of it. He couldn't think. There might have been a breach in territory, one inch to close to the other, there might have been a snarl, but then their bodies were moving on their own.

He felt his fist push out of its own accord, connecting with something tangible, and heard the sound of flesh against flesh. There was a stinging in his rib cage, and blood on his tongue, but he knew somehow that every strike that landed on him was repaid. A tangle of flailing limbs, the smell and taste of dirt, and there were yells around him from what must have been the other students.

The sun burst, disappeared, and then there was rain falling down on them. It soaked through Kai's hair, pulling his loose waves straight down, and left pink trails along his skin. His body was sore, bent, broken, and he could hear heavy panting coming from both of them. A pair of glasses lay a few feet away, crushed beyond repair, and he noticed that Kite's eyes were a pretty shade of brown.

Kai started laughing, straddled on top of this new boy. "You're pretty good."

Kite smirked up at him, lips painted red, white teeth dyed with stripes to match. "You're not bad either."

And wasn't it strange, how sometimes all two boys needed was one good fight, before they became the best of friends.

 

 _Two. Colors._

 

The sky was blue, so blue and big like it was going to open up and swallow him right then and there. No clouds, not today, and the sun was a big yellow period in the middle of an empty page. Kai smiled. Such a beautiful day, all blue and yellow and all that jazz, and those fuckers were only seeing red. Or was it brown... blood never really looked red after it came out and dried up, crusted gunk on some one's swollen face.

"Dude, you better stop, or you're going to get blood on your shirt."

Kite removed his hand from where it had just collided into soft, wet, skin, and as he pulled it out Kai could hear the crunch crunch of shattered bones. Kai pushed himself off from where he had been leaning on some brick wall, and smiled at the mess Kite had made of their ugly faces.

"That'll teach you for trying to fuck with me," Kai said, kicking one guy in the stomach for good measure, pleased when he groaned and folded into himself.

Kite was walking away now, wiping the blood off his hands with a handkerchief (who the hell carried around a handkerchief in this day and age?), and Kai had to skip to catch up to him.

"Kai-kun," Kite said, putting that silly little handkerchief back in his pocket, "you're perfectly capable of winning your own fights."

Kai blinked. "But you're the one who started punching them first!"

"I didn't see you stepping in to help."

"You looked like you were having fun." Kai smirked, sly, all knowing confidence. "Sides, you like protecting me. Remember when we were little kids, and I didn't know martial arts, and you used to beat up any one that picked on me?"

"It's because you were so small and weak."

"And because you like me so much. Like, you totally li~i~ike me." Kai fluttered his eyelashes a little, teasing.

"Be quiet, Kai-kun, or I'll make you eat Gouya."

Kai laughed to himself, because with almost any one else Kite was always a physical threat, puffing himself up like an alpha lion, but with Kai he was always 'I'll make you eat Gouya' or something equally silly.

"I like you too, buchou," Kai said, because Kite really liked power trips, and calling him by an authoritative title was bound to go a little to his head. Sure enough, Kai could see Kite's eyes flash a little behind his glasses, Kite's lips turn up the slightest bit.

"But I never said I liked you in the first place."

"You don't have to." Kai smiled. "Cause I already know all that shit."

 

 _Three. I Went Crazy Again Today._

 

"Kai-kun."

A familiar voice through a half open window, and Kai was stumbling out of bed. He opened the window and Kite was sliding in, impossibly elegant, slim muscles and earthly sweat. Kite reminded Kai of a hyena, his appearance both intimidating and absurd. The popular girls in school would laugh at his too-gelled hair, at his squared glasses, but never where he might overhear them. His every stance, every movement, carried a feline grace that belied his species. No carrion eater, not really, and as Kai watched at the dojo, every stance, every movement, had a killing intent.

That night Kite's hands were bruised, and his knuckles were stained with red. Kai cleaned them up, and didn't say anything. He would pretend not to know Kite's sins until Kite was ready to confess. He had his own sins to hide. Afterwards they fell into Kai's bed, and every kiss and bite that Kite placed on his skin was like a confession. A secret that only their bodies knew, and in the pleasure he took between Kai's legs, Kite was absolved.

The day that Kite went too far was a sunny day. Kai had been expecting it, the time when Kite would crack, and he wouldn't be enough to settle down the furies in Kite's head. It started with a phone call, with Kite telling him to meet him outside his apartment, and to bring money. Kite never asked for things, and Kai never answered with a no, and so he stuffed his wallet with all the money he had. The sky was red outside, ominous, and Kai stuffed the wallet in his backpack with some clothes, a toothbrush, and his mp3 player.

When he got there Kite was sitting outside on a brick fence, his backpack beside him. His eyes were blood red under the harsh sun, thick underneath the glass of his lenses.

"Kai-kun," he said, "I forgot my wallet. Go get it for me."

It was the smell he noticed when he stepped into the apartment first. Rotten, thick, and stale. He didn't know how long it had been, and stifled the urge to gag. The bodies on the floor were recognizable at once, though they were dyed in a sickening shade of brown-red. He stepped over them to get to Kite's bedroom, and returned to Kite with a small, brown leather square in his hand.

He slipped it into Kite's waiting palm, and their fingers brushed, Kite's skin cold despite the heat.

"Kai-kun, did you see?"

Kai shook his head. "I didn't see anything."

Kite stood up, grasping his wrist with those too cold fingers. "Run away with me."

There were sirens in the background, and in his paranoia, Kai thought they were coming for them. He let his hand slip down, intertwined his fingers with Kite's. "We can take the train."

Kite nodded, lips upturned in a small smile.


End file.
